Posts Tagged ‘birthdays’

I received a birthday card at work with autographs of all of my coworkers on it. Whenever people write something personal I try to think if there is a hidden meaning in the words they choose. Let’s examine.

“Happy Birthday Tim!!” – Pretty simple. The two exclamation points feels lazy to me though. Go with 1 or 3.

“Happy Birthday Tim- You have Have a fantastic day” – Clearly he got stuck in the middle of what he was writing. A little bit of scribbling and now I have confirmation that he does not think things out. At least he didn’t write “Happy Birthday! Too many more” like he did on someone else’s card once, completely changing the meaning by using the wrong to/too/two.

“Happy Birthday mate! Have fun with the dogs” – The mate was added in as a reminder that he’s English or Australian. I’m not sure which it is and I feel like I will be laughed at if I ask.

“Happy Birthday, Tim. Let it be so good that it’ll force you to compare it to your favorite 90s alt song.” – This was an attempt at humor and a reference to something else. Let’s ignore what it was a reference to because that would take too long and complicate things. What he should have done to be funny was use different titles from 90s alternative songs. He should have said “Happy Birthday Tim. I hope it’s so ‘good’ that you get ‘laid’ by ‘two princes.’ I want to ‘praise you’ like I should.” or something like that, maybe even mentioning Possum Kingdom in some way. I just want to point out the difference between being clever with a reference and just referencing for the sake of.

“Happy Birthday Tim! Libra’s Rule! XO” – Whoa! An XO? That means kiss and hug? Somebody wants to hug and kiss me, right? She also signed her first name followed by her last initial. Is she trying to remain mysterious? I already know her last name, but maybe she thinks I’m too stupid to retain information. She wants me to ask her what the letter stands for. Do you want to know what the weirdest thing is? Her birthday was not too long ago and I almost wrote something very similar, but didn’t because I feel like we have too awkward of a relationship to ever acknowledge we are two individuals. I forget what I wrote on her card. Something like “You intimidate me because you are attractive and actually a nice person. What’s your fucking deal?”

“Happy B-Day Mr. Tim. Thanks for joining the team and being so amazing. XO” – Another hug and kiss and I’m an amazing person? Well, tickle me pink I have an admirer.

But wait!!! That last one was written by a male. What. The. Fuck.

Until the XO at the end it’s fine and what he usually calls me. Amazing is his word he uses so that’s perfectly fine. It’s the XO I’m obsessing over. He wants to kiss and hug me??? No. Please. Stop. Does he even know what that means??? I really hope he was drafting out a football play and got lazy after drawing one offensive and one defensive player. What is wrong with this guy? I mean, I understand I am easy to love and all, but…just…no. I didn’t even realize he wrote that until a day too late to feel awkward around him. Maybe I’m thinking into this too much. Or maybe I’m so beloved that two people want to kiss and hug me.

Not long ago I hosted a gathering for my birthday, which was a few days ago. I think the last time I had a “birthday party” was when I was 10 years old. I was a little out of practice. The odds of this turning out successful were slim. Could I really pull it off?


The first thing was to choose a venue. This was easy because I don’t like going places. If it were up to me my party would have taken place under my bed sheets or inside a woman’s womb. I think I have abandonment issues. I chose The House of Brews in New York City because this is the only place I like to drink. The staff is usually attractive too. Unfortunately on the night of my shindig the Middle Eastern manager with the unibrow was nowhere to be seen.

Next I picked the date and the time. There’s nothing interesting about choosing those so let’s skip over my thought process.

I invited everyone I like and a few people I don’t like, just to add to the numbers. One person I don’t like actually showed up. I’m actually kidding. Or maybe I’m not. I want them to wonder.

The party was supposed to start off at 6, but I got there late. Let’s not get into why I was late. It involves bodily fluids and lonely screams of passion. I somehow did get there only 15 minutes after the first person and after navigating through the New York City tourists like a swallowed Lego through a congested colon, I caught up to two of my other friends just as they were entering. Yes. I am bragging about having three friends.

scott weiland(I still have more friends than Scott Weiland. His friends are so far away he needs to sing into a megaphone for them to hear him)

We went upstairs after the hostess downstairs asked a dumb question about needing a table or sitting at the bar. I lied and said we were sitting at the bar. I saw her later on in the night and I think she sneered at me. Women hate being lied to. That is precisely why on my way out I told her she was a 4.

The first four to arrive sat at a table near the bathrooms because when you gotta go you don’t want to have to walk a long way. We did nothing more than look over the menus as the rest of the crew sat awkwardly not really knowing what the others were capable of since they didn’t know each other too well. Eventually someone else showed up and as each did I had to introduce them all from where I knew them. The first guy there I knew from comedy. The two I entered with I knew from kindergarten and 7th grade, respectively. By respectively I mean in the order I respect them. The third was another comedy friend, the only non-white among us. He’s Filipino so it’s like he’s not even a real person anyway. The last one I met off Craigslist. The worst thing about this is he wasn’t the only person I met off Craigslist that was invited to the party.

craigslist killer(My buddy Frank was invited but he had to attend a Fat Don Quixote lookalike contest)

Sausage Fest 2013 underway, we were able to keep a conversation going well by this point. The others saw how everyone at the table was an antisocial loser incapable of being loved. This was our bond; our hatred of the world. We chatted about things men our age chat about. You know, like Breaking Bad and being 15 years away from needing required prostate exams. I had 8 beers in total, and that may not even be correct because the waitress didn’t think to give us separate tabs. Why would a group of 6 men all have one tab? She made no sense at all. I should have stuck a booger to the place where you write the tip.

My friends began to leave because they had work in the morning or forgot about the rotting body in their apartment. When it came time to leave there were four of us and we were pretty far gone. We all had to walk in the same direction home to our trains so it was easy. I couldn’t stop focusing on eating something because I am a big fat pig. Whenever I feel any pain, this time from drinking too much, I stuff my face. I literally think eating will cure pain. And it does. But it never got my parents back together.

divorce(King Solomon rule that the child should be split in two. The selfish parents already focusing more on their new romances didn’t realize how it would kill their offspring)

I got home sober enough to operate a motor vehicle, drunk enough to kill a lot of people without realizing it. I woke up the next morning covered in sweat promising myself I would never drink again. My hangover didn’t last long. I ate a cheesesteak and even had enough energy to workout later in the day. Not that the working out helped anything other than it made me feel good about myself temporarily.

The moral of the story, I had to take a lot of poops all throughout the next day. There was a lot of painful cursing, but you know what, I might contemplate doing it again.

Despite my vast fame, I still get excited to spot one of my fellow famous mates out on the town. You have to figure, if you walk around New York City or Los Angeles all day long, you’re bound to at some point cross paths with a famous person. Even if you’re not a fan of theirs, they are still famous. Most famous people I am not a fan of. Every politician, every country singer, every soap opera star is famous and I hate them all.

I’ve met a lot of athletes in my time. The most famous was probably Derek Jeter. He asked me how I was and I said good. Then he signed my baseball card and got into a nice car with a big black bodyguard. It wasn’t an amazing experience or anything. I had to lie to an old man to meet him. He told me not to “sass him” anymore or else I wouldn’t get to meet the Mr. Jeter. I stuck my tongue out when he wasn’t looking and he still probably works security at a Trenton sports complex. He didn’t get to meet Derek Jeter. He had to smell my fingers to get a whiff of an overrated short stop.

I don’t want to brag about all of the famous athletes I have met. It doesn’t even impress me. If I met the athletes unexpectedly then I might be more excited to share my stories. I met Willie Mays at the baseball hall of fame. If I met him at a soup exhibition then I would have a much better story than an old guy sitting at a table mumbling something and autographing the same baseball twice. Does that mean it’s twice as valuable?

When I used to go to New York often I would see famous people quite often. It was kind of cool, especially when they didn’t give a shit who I was or what I was selling. The least famous person I recognized was that douche from American Idol with the dreadlocks and pretty eyes. I’ll give him that. He has gorgeous eyes. He walked by me on his cell phone in a pair of flip-flops. I don’t know who wears flip-flops in New York City. I guess he really wanted to step on an AIDS needle badly. A group of girls saw him then giggled. I asked them if he was from American Idol and they confirmed it then said how cute he was. I asked them if they recognized me from American Idol, trying to see if I could fool them into fooling around. It backfired and they ganged up on me then stole my wallet.

Another famous person that you probably don’t know that I saw was former WWE wrestler Batista. He was with fellow wrestler, Melina who is one of those women that sometimes is hot and sometimes has a horse-face. Or maybe sometimes I just want to fuck a horse. I haven’t decided yet. They were sitting in Times Square at 10 o’clock on a Tuesday getting their caricatures done by Chinese men. Batista looked angry and Melina looked like she was just trying to be nice and sit still. Me and a group of black kids gathered around and pointed and shouted their names at them like they didn’t know who they were. Neither of them are with the WWE anymore and that makes this celebrity sighting very unimpressive.

Then there are sightings that I’m not positive about. I thought I saw Morgan Freeman, but then I realized that I think all old black men look-alike. Rats!

I was with a friend at one time and a musical had just gotten out. He said to me “Hey that’s DMX.” Then he yelled “Hey DMX!” A black man waved to us so we can only assume that it was DMX. You remember him. He had that song where he just says that his name is DMX. It was popular when I was 11. No?

The only possible famous person I saw in a bar was High School Musical alumni Lucas Grabel. He plays Ashley Tisdale’s closeted homosexual brother in the movies. He was standing with a large group of friends, the center of all their attention. Chances are, it wasn’t him. I can never imagine someone from the Disney Channel doing something sinful like drinking, drugging, self-mutilation, posing naked, being a slut, cursing, or anything else that they always end up doing.

Years before he was famous, I swore that I saw Michael Cera in a bar. I didn’t know his name. This was pre-Superbad so I had no business being in a bar as I was maybe 18 years old. I only knew his character name from Arrested Development, George Michael. I shouted it to see if he’d turn and look. He didn’t. Maybe it was because he wasn’t in character. I still like to think that it was him and he was getting beers with a fake ID.

Then there are times that I see celebrities outside of major metropolitans. I saw prop comedian Carrot Top at a train station. He was walking around with his assistant and lots of bags (his act). He went into the bathroom and I debated whether I should get a glimpse of his famous genitals or not. I really should have, but I didn’t. When he came back out a few people shook his hand and pretended to be fans. I looked at him and smiled. That was my way of acknowledging that I recognized him, but wasn’t much of a fan. If I ever become famous and someone comes up to me and says they’re a big fan I’m going to ask them what their favorite thing I ever did was. This will leave them feeling awkward and hating me. Anything to ruin another person’s day.

He is not famous, but I feel like I should mention that during my second semester of college, the man who sat next to me in my television class was the original drummer from the band Phish. At least, he claimed to be and adjusting the Wikipedia page to say so. All year he tried to sell his CD to students and at the end gave me a free one. I still have it and I completely understand why he was kicked out. He also got angry with me for mispronouncing the word “genre” because back then I pronounced it “ga-nair.” That really bothered him. We made friends again when I didn’t tell the teach that he spent most of class filming the blonde girl in the front row.

I shook the hand that shook the world in Maury Povich. The same hand that has rubbed the foreheads for good luck of so many kids with aging diseases. It was after the taping of his show, which isn’t exiting. I knew he would be there and he wore a big coat and looked frail. He didn’t want to touch my hand. He knew one would smell like ass and the other would smell like cock. I knew the same about him and that’s precisely why I shook his. Count this as also meeting Connie Chung as I’m sure a piece of her skin got stuck under my finger nail.

I hope to eventually meet more famous people in my time on earth. But like I have already said, I’m sure I have. Kim Kardashian is, in Joel McHale’s words “famous for having a big ass and a sex tape.” That’s all it takes now. We reward that. Losers don’t even have to shoot a president anymore to get their name out there. They just have to lie on their backs while a wide receiver widens them with his receiver. I really hope Reggie Bush plays wide receiver otherwise that little joke doesn’t make sense.

P.S. To my 3 1/2 loyal followers (the half comes from me reading your posts and I’ve come to the conclusion that you have no legs)

No new posts until Monday. I’ll be having a gigantic birthday bonanza and probably crying alone at an aquarium. Take this time to catch up on older blogs of mine if you miss me.

I don’t get why desserts are so coveted at parties. The way people rush to consume them is so primal and animalistic. I’ve seen some of the slowest and dumbest human beings win races through mazes to get to cake before anyone else. Sometimes they pull muscles ad can’t move for a few weeks. All of this to get a piece of cake. A piece of disgusting, sugar laced death.

Cakes aren’t the only dessert, obviously. It’s just the most common, easily transportable, lets bring this into a public place, dessert. Personally, brownies are better. They own cake. Whenever I eat cake I can feel my toes trying to fall off. My teeth tingle too. They want to rot out of my mouth. The thing is, I get that same feeling with brownies too. The same goes with ice cream except I also get brain freeze and want to hit something while crying. That’s why I avoid desserts as much as I can. They are trying to kill me and aren’t afraid to let me know it.

I will only eat birthday cake if it’s my own birthday or the birthday of a good friend. I have few friends and none of them are good, so that leaves my birthday. I feel better not eating desserts. Whenever I do eat them, I eat too much of them. They’re all I think about. I need to keep my head clear from all of the sugar. I’m convinced that the Illuminati are the ones that run the sugar companies and they are controlling our minds with it. Think about it. Fat people are always upset and lazy. Who else is upset and lazy? Zombies! Exactly the type of humans the Illuminati want us to be.

Okay, maybe I don’t really believe the Illuminati are trying to control our minds with sugar. They have drinking water and invisible sprays for that.

With America waking up and realizing how fat we all are, it seems less and less people are indulging in sweets. Of course, less and less people means more and more for those who don’t deprive themselves. Women should only have boobs on the front of their bodies, not the back of their knees.

Diabetes is at an all-time high and that means absolutely nothing to my argument. Let me get sidetracked on stats for a second. Saying that something like diabetes is at its peak is really stretching the truth. How long have they kept these stats? Not very long in the ratio of human history. How many people are in this world? Far more than there used to be, paving the way for more people to have diabetes. How terrible for us are the foods we eat? Much worse than they used to be. No wonder it seems like we’re all going to get our foots cut off.

From now on I don’t want people to give me cake for my birthday (which is coming up soon I should mention). Get me a steak instead. A nice big juicy lean piece of steak. Desserts are so cheap and a steak is expensive. It’ll mean more. You can get a tub of ice cream for like $4. A steak costs a lot more and it’s a lot better for you and a lot better tasting. Cooked correctly, it can also fit a candle in it perfectly. A Birthday Steak doesn’t sound so terrible now does it? I’ve already eaten dinner tonight and want more just thinking about it.

I know exactly why my perfect dream will never come true. Vegetarians. Yeah, those pesky idiots. I respect anyone who values the life of animals and their own health. I really do. It’s when they ruin the fun for us carnivores that I break out the ass kicking boots.

Life is this simple. Pay attention. You can do whatever you want, whenever you want, as long as it doesn’t ruin things for anybody else. And by ruin I mean prevent them from doing what it is that they want to do. Vegetarians can eat as much tofu as they want, as long as they never bother me with how much meat I eat. You’re not me and you will never kill the carnivorous instinct we all have. Even Adam & Eve ate meat, at least they should have. If they did eat meat then they would have been too full to eat a stupid apple and all of us would be living in paradise! It’s vegetarians who have created original sin. If you all choke on a veggie burger then we’d all be much happier.

Desserts should never leave the mainstream. I would hate if they do. Sometimes I need them. I’ll sit in my car and eat a stack of donuts and hate myself five minutes later. I need those moments every once in a while. I need to feel weak. Other people need desserts to make them feel good, that’s fine too. I don’t want to abolish desserts at all. What I want is the chance to have something different in celebration of the day you came out of a vagina. That’s it.

“Give me a Birthday Steak or give me death.” – Patrick Henry